


Sweet Lips

by Elpie (Horribibble)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allergies, Alternate Universe - Human, Brief Description of Anaphylaxis, Erica Reyes is taking none of your shit, Food Trucks, Getting Together, Ice Cream Sandwiches, M/M, Stoyd Week, boys being dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2397266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a bright day in mid-June when Sophie squints at her uncle over her Knuckle Sandwich – butterscotch ice cream laced with homemade strawberry sauce smushed between a pair of peanut butter raisin cookies cut into hand shapes – and tells him, “Daddy says you need help for real.”</p><p>His six-year-old niece is calling him on his bullshit, and Stiles isn’t even mad because he’s still got a perfect visual on the guy that works in the Sweet Lips truck with Erica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Stoyd Week.

It’s a bright day in mid-June when Sophie squints at her uncle over her Knuckle Sandwich – butterscotch ice cream laced with homemade strawberry sauce smushed between a pair of peanut butter raisin cookies cut into hand shapes – and tells him, “Daddy says you need help for real.”

His six-year-old niece is calling him on his bullshit, and Stiles isn’t even mad because he’s still got a perfect visual on the guy that works in the Sweet Lips truck with Erica. He doesn’t talk all that much, but when he does it’s perfect. Even if it’s just, “What’ll it be?” or “Don’t forget your napkins.”

Right now he’s leaning his elbows on the counter just past the window, checking the clouds for signs of rain. Stiles could stare at those perfect arms and that square jaw in a _hurricane_. But he can’t man up and start a conversation. This is worse than Lydia and the Ten Year Plan.

“Ground control to Major Tom,” Sophie calls, and Stiles wrinkles his nose at her.

“Where’d you pick that one up?”

“Daddy said it last time you did the staring thing. Staring is rude.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Okay. All right, you’re my witness, Soph. Next time I’m gonna talk to him. Like actually bring up something relevant.”

“Relevants are my favorite.” Sophie beams, a ring of gooey strawberry and butterscotch around her pouty lips.

Stiles is too busy laughing to correct her.

-x-

“The weather’s nice today,” Stiles says, toying with the tab on his Dr. Pepper while Hot Ice Cream Guy enters the necessary information into the iPad screen. It’s faulty sometimes, taking an obscenely long time to process anything. Stiles loves those times, feels like less of a nutcase for lingering at the window.

Except Sophie is still there to judge him. She smacks him on the knee and raises her eyebrows at him as if to say, **_This_** _is what you wanted me to witness?_

“It is.” The guy smiles, slow and easy. “But don’t say that to Erica. She tried doing a rain dance to get out of work today.”

“Ouch. And here I thought business was going well.”

“It is. Thanks to you guys, mostly. We just sell ice cream–”

“And cookies!” Erica shouts from further inside.

The guy rolls his eyes. “And cookies. Jesus, woman. No one’s forgotten the cookies.”

The transaction finally clears, and he hands over the iPad for Stiles to scribble his signature or a daffodil or a penis or what the hell ever because Square doesn’t actually give a shit as long as he’s paying. He scribbles his name down and hands it back, this time without hitting ‘confirm’.

“‘Stiles,’” he reads off. “That your real name?”

“Pretty much.”

“Cool. Mine’s Boyd.”

“Real name?”

“Last name.”

“Awesome.” Stiles is smiling like an idiot, but he can’t stop himself. “This is Sophie.”

Sophie curtsies, and Stiles feels like he’s finally succeeded at life. He’s only _kind of_ completely pathetic.

-x-

After that, it’s easier to strike up conversations with Boyd, but they never really last long. The lines get long, and people get pissed off when Stiles spends too long talking the guy’s ear off. He’s pretty sure Boyd doesn’t mind. Erica’s usually the one to work the window, but whenever she sees Stiles coming these days, she throws him a saucy wink and switches with Boyd.

Stiles hopes that means they’re friends.

Boyd actually _smiles_ sometimes when Stiles cracks jokes, and he fills him in on stupid little anecdotes from back in their anchor kitchen, where a guy named Isaac is apparently eternally at war with their heavier equipment.

He knows that for Erica and Boyd, this truck is their baby. Erica’s been baking cookies since her ‘sexist douche grandpa’ bought her an EasyBake oven when she was eight, and Boyd has been crafting his own ice cream flavors since his little sister Alicia got tired of the one she’d begged for for _months_.

His mother nearly had a conniption when she heard they were selling ice cream sandwiches in a truck with _Lick Me_ painted over fire engine red lips on the side. And then another when he tried to feed her General Tso’s Chicken flavored ice cream. Boyd is always coming up with random interesting flavors and jotting them down to play mad scientist with later. Stiles remembers when his mom let him ‘experiment’ in the kitchen, and feels a little bit closer than he ever has before.

So when Boyd asks him if he’d like to try one of his test flavors, Stiles jumps on the chance. He doesn’t bother to ask what the flavor is, just tells Boyd to, “Slap that sucker between some snickerdoodles, and we’re good.”

He takes several enthusiastic bites before he recognizes the familiar taste tickling at his tongue. When it turns into a full-blown swelling _itch,_ he realizes that he probably should have asked a few important questions. Like _what’s in it?_ Or _does it contain mango?_

Because the looks of absolute horror on Boyd and Sophie’s faces as he goes down under the crushing pressure of his closing airway are just not worth it.

He doesn’t even like sweets.

-x-

Sophie says as much between angry hiccups once she’s stopped panicking and crying. She was remarkably quick with the EpiPen once the symptoms started, but Stiles remained unconscious. Once the adrenaline wore off, she broke down so hard that the paramedics didn’t even argue when Boyd insisted on riding in the ambulance with them.

She’s insanely strong for a kid so young, and Boyd is sorry she has to see her father like this. He’s not going to try to placate her. As long as she’s angry she won’t start panicking again, and that’s a vast improvement.

Once they’ve got Stiles hooked up and under treatment in an observation room, he guides her to the set of uncomfortable plastic seats just outside to wait for more information. She clings to his hand with tiny, shaking fingers trying to imitate claws.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She shakes her head aggressively. “I’m mad at _him._ ”

“That’s all right. I’m just sorry you had to see your daddy like that.”

“ _He’s_ **_not_ ** _my_ **_daddy!_ ** ” Sophie howls. “ **_That’s the stupid part!_ ** ”

“What?” Boyd looks down at the six-year-old ball of rage in her Powerpuff Girls shirt, her pigtails coming undone and her eyes big and wet, and he thinks that she’s certainly upset enough.

“He’s my _uncle_! He just takes me along ‘cuz he wants to see _you_ and grown-ups aren’t supposed to eat too much _ice cream!_ ”

“That’s not really –”

“ _I’m not done!_ ”

“Okay.”

“… Thank you.” She takes a deep breath, smooths a pigtail, and continues, “He thinks you’re really cute and he wants to kiss you and stuff, only now he can’t because he’s a dummy and his lips are the size of _Venus._ That’s a _planet._ ”

“Oh.”

A man with dark hair comes running down the hall, looking around frantically before he spots them. “Sophie!” he calls.

“Daddy!” She lifts her arms, and the man closes the gap, pulling her into a hug.

He doesn’t waste a minute before turning his attention to Boyd. “What did he do? I’m his emergency contact. I know he went into anaphylactic shock, but how…?”

“I… uh… asked him to try a new flavor?”

“You’re the ice cream guy?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“It’s not his fault. I mean, who makes mango ice cream anyway?”

“No, no. That’s really cool. I just… holy shit, he finally talks to you and it’s just in time for his death allergies to kick in.”

“We talk,” Boyd says defensively.

“Really?”

“Not as much as I’d like, but…”

“Wait. You like him, too?”

Boyd blushes harder than he’d like to admit. “He’s cute.”

The nurse pops her head back out of the room, a gentle smile on her face. “Hey, hon. You’re just in time. It looks like he’s coming around. You wanna talk to him? I’ll watch Sophie.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He hands Sophie over to what can only be his mother, striding into the room with purpose. Boyd can’t really see inside from where he’s seated, but he can definitely hear the guy snapping. “You nearly killed yourself with _ice cream_. You are officially _the saddest asshole._ ”

The nurse – Melissa, her ID says – turns to him with that same smile. “You want to talk to him, too? Scott can’t yell at him forever.”

“Yeah,” Boyd says. “Can I make a call first?”

“Cell phone area’s that way.” She nods her head toward the exit. “And thank you. For riding with Sophie.”

When he gets through to Erica and explains everything that’s happened, she laughs so hard that she drops the phone and has to call him back. “He rented his niece to come see you, oh my g-d. Bet that’s a relief, though. Are you going to ask him out _now?_ Jesus. It’s the least you can do after trying to kill him.”

“Shut up,” he says.

“That means yes!” Erica shrieks. There’s chatter in the background, probably a customer, and Erica snorts. “Shit, man, unbunch your panties; this is a business call. Do you even _need_ the calories?”

Boyd shakes his head. His life, for real.

-x-

When Boyd finally enters the observation room, Stiles has the covers bunched up around him and a miffed look on his face, like he once again expects to be harassed. “Are you gonna yell at me, too? Because I have totally been guilted enough. Scott went the whole nine yards about personal health and accused me of trying to give his kid diabetes on purpose. I get it. I’m like the gay ice cream Evil Knievel.”

Boyd can’t help but laugh. He perches on the edge of the hospital bed and smiles down at Cute Nerdy  _Uncle._ “Actually, I was planning on asking you out. I was gonna make sure you were okay and everything first, but I don’t think you’d be this ornery if you weren’t.”

“Oh, you have not yet _seen me_ ornery.”

“No?”

“Nah. Mostly I’m just tired… Wait. Did you just ask me out?”

“Pretty sure.”

“I’ve been stalking you for months.”

“With a borrowed six-year-old.”

“She loves me.”

“Can’t see why she wouldn’t.”

Stiles smiles, his cheeks turning maraschino red. Boyd likes it. “I should probably tell you: I don’t really like sweets.”

“I heard. I make some savory stuff, too, you know? Mango-free.”

Stiles laughs, but it quickly devolves into a yawn. “Think I can try some later?”

“Think we’ll try plenty of things later,” Boyd rumbles, leaning in to press a light kiss against swollen lips. “Get some sleep first.”

“You got it, Sweet Lips.”

“You really are an asshole.”

Stiles falls asleep with a shit-eating grin on his face.


End file.
